Knew I'd Have To Fix You
by Temporary Infatuation
Summary: Sam is blinded to a broken brother. S/D
1. Chapter 1

**Author's note:**Contains Wincest. Warning you now. Review so I know what to/if I should change.

* * *

Sam woke up in the car, his forehead red and burning from where it rested against the glass. He muttered an order at Dean to stop but the car pressed faster.

"Dean?" He said, louder. "Dean?" He looked up, the blur of trees bring him out of his sleepslow slur. "Dean?! What the fuck are you doing?" He clutched at the dashboard as if he could slow the car down, tires on the wrong side of the road. He was screaming his brother's name now, grabbing at his jacket, close to hitting him. Pushing 110 and listen to her purr_._ "Dean. Dean, please. Please." Close to tears, watching the oncoming lights swerve in and out as Dean switched sides, lane to lane. He pleaded one last whimper as they stared into the lights of something big. Something Dean wasn't swerving away from. Finally Dean looked at him, his tear stained face as the light hit the tracks on his cheeks. The wheel turned hard and the car jolted to a stop in safety. Dean laughed.

"Oh, come on, Sammy. I was just having some fun. For once. Think I'd mess up my car?" Sam grappled with the door handle, made it out and retched. _For once. Having some fun, for once. _He gagged again, Dean laughing behind him.

* * *

It's the middle of the night, shadows flitting across the room in the light created from under the bathroom door. Sam's staring straight ahead, making patterns into nightmares on the ceiling. Waking up alone was painful, to say the least. Bed still warm, pillow next to his holding the shape of Dean's body.

_How long?_ He wondered. _How long has it been since he's stayed through the night?_ He turned on his side, listening. All he could hear was Dean's voice. _How long has it been since we talked? _His eyes took fire and overflowed, little shattered sobs. Dean muttered to himself and cursed about something or other, the sound of water hitting the tub making the base of Sam's skull throb past painfully. Millenia ago, he would have joined Dean in the crowded shower, pressed their bodies together until they were nearly one person. Tasted Dean from head to toe and reveled at the feel of skin on skin, heat on heat.

Finally Dean slipped in bed beside him, hair damp and cold beneath Sam's fingertips as he lifted his hand to pull it straight. Dean leaned into Sam's touch and gave him a crazed look, pulling their chests flush. He could feel Dean's heart, pumped with gasoline and fire. Dean kissed him hard and fast and not at all smoothslick.

"Miss me, little brother?" He whispered, tucking his head into the crook of Sam's neck, reaching out to taste his pulse carefully.

"Yeah. I missed you." _I still miss you._

* * *

Crappy little bar in the middle of nowhere. Like a million other crappy bars. Sam looked down into his rare beer. Keeping an eye on his big brother, for once. He brought his beer over to where Dean was sitting, tapped on his shoulder. Dean jumped and looked back, sad little broken smile. Like a million other broken smiles.

"Here." Barely a whisper as he handed Dean his beer. Dean gave him that look again and declined.

"Not thirsty. Can we get out of here?" Sam stared at Dean.

"Um. Well. You asked if we could come here." Dean's gaze was full of please and now and panic. "Yeah. Okay. We can get out of here."

Crumby hotel, worse than the bar. Sheets like sand paper. Dean's hands on him before he can ask and Dean's pressing his mouth to the hollow of Sam's throat, making little sighs and gasps and splintered words.

"Sammy..." Sam wants to tell him it's okay, but he knows it's not. "Sammy, I'm sorry about. I'm sorry about everything. Oh, God, Sam, forgive me. Please." Dean's not crying, but his body is shaking against Sam's and it feels like he's dying. Becoming something new and foreign and unDean.

"For what?" He asks, scared of the answer. Dean shakes his head, body trembling just a little more and Sam runs his hand into the small of his brother's back, his lips desperately finding the clammy skin of Dean's temple. "It's alright. Shh, Dean. I forgive you. I love you. Think I wouldn't?"

"Think you shouldn't."

* * *

Sam waited as Dean drifted off and started to strip off his grimy clothes, debating on under the sheets or over. He carefully unbuttoned Dean's shirt, ignoring the feeling of deja vu, the hundreds of times when they'd go weeks without a job and haul their father back from some sleazy dive, rid him of beer stained clothes and block out stories of their mother, how much better things could've been '_if only.'_ There were infinite of those.

If only he had been faster.  
If only they hadn't bought that stupid house.  
If only he had known then, not now.  
If only Dean had been older.  
If only they had cut Sam out when they had the chance. Before.

Sam sighed and shut out the voices. He had enough of them in his head without his far-away father's. He pushed Dean's shirt off and ran his hands over Dean's forearms, throat closing so fast he thought he would choke and die right there.

Thin little purple streaks slid across Dean's arms like child's play. Some were black and bruised and Sam wanted suddenly to reach out and grab them, push until Dean cried out. Higher on his arm, inside of his elbow, were little black dots like snake bites. Lots of snake bites. The urge to hurt Dean burned brighter, then broke and vanished and Sam was collapsing onto the creaky mattress, mouth blindly finding Dean's broken skin, cracked and torn big brother, always perfect and fractured and beautifully busted.

"I love you, Dean. Love you, love you, love you." He muttered. Dean's skin tasted like blood and salt and acid and it burned his tongue. "Forever."

"Sammy?" Sleep muffled voice. "Sammy, what's wrong?" His words were slurred. Had they been before? Was he drunk? How had Sam not seen?

"Nothing, Dean." He move up the bed and pressed his mouth to Dean's, fending off the protests and questions and pushed tones. "Go to sleep."


	2. Chapter 2

Sam stared down at the street, a lamp catching on the shards of glass stretched out before him, perfect little metal tips scattered in the road. His legs burned from stomping on the pavement again and again, his hand clutching the bag so tight he feared it would burst and free all this poison that was probably pushing through his brother at this very moment. It would almost be fitting, to just rip at the bag and scatter the contents like the ashes of his mind - but no, can't do that.

He pulled his phone out of his pocket, instantly calmer. Repetition - he dialed the same number as he had a billion times, when things just got too bad and 'the last resort' became 'Plan A.' Bobby's voice was tough and rough and a little sleepy, which made Sam sigh a little in relief. If he was asleep, it meant he wasn't working on a case.

"Sam?" Bobby asked, and he realized he hadn't said anything. He swallowed the painful lump in his throat.

"Bobby? Bobby, I...Where are you?" There was a flurry on the other end of the line.

"Nebraska." Sam's heart jumped. "Sam, what's happened?"

"What part of Nebraska?" He asked, a little prayer.

"The part with corn. I'm on my way. Just tell me what's happening. You hurt?" There was a pause. "Dean?"

"No, it's...we're okay, just. I'm going to need your house for a while."

* * *

When Sam finally hung up, fighting through Bobby's question's again and again, dawn had long crawled over the horizon and everything had those soft morning edges. Sam breathed and leaned against the car for a moment before pushing into the room. Nothing seemed so frightening.

Dean was rummaging around the room, barely glancing at Sam as he walked in from the parking lot. For a moment that old spark flared in Sam, and he wanted to scream _Look at me, you bastard. Look at me! See me! _but then it was gone, and the creeping sadness set deep into his bones. He wanted it _out_ already.

"Dean?" He whispered. Big surprise, big brother ignores him. "Dean!"

"Sam, what?! Can't you see I'm a little busy here? Dammit!" He pushed his bag aside, hand running through his hair. "I think I left something in the car. Did you see one of my bags in there?" He headed for the door, but Sam wouldn't budge from the narrow walkway.

"How long, Dean?" His hands were clenched into fist, poorly halted anger punching viciously through him.

"How long what? I don't have time for this Sam!" Sam repeated the question, again and again, pushing off Dean's attempt to break through. He pushed Dean back, hard, and his brother bounced off his body and collided with the wall.

"What the fuck, Sam?! Stop being such a freak!"

"Tell me how long! Behind my back! Pretending nothing was going on? How long have you lied to me? I thought...You wouldn't let me touch you. I thought you didn't want this. Turns out you want _it _more. How could you do this to me?" Dean looked shattered."Why didn't you tell me? Why didn't you let me help you?" Dean didn't answer, eyes fixing on the floor. "I'm helping you now." Eyes like glass, staring at Sam as if he could see right through him. _He can. He always could._ "I'm packing your bags back up. We're going to Bobby's."

* * *

Sam embraced the cool night lovingly, his hair ruffling against his ears, oddly cold. He flexed his hands, fingertips still tingling in remembrance of tousling Dean's jacket, almost forcing him into the passenger's seat. His brother wouldn't look at him, stared out at rows and rows of frigid ground, frostbit earth silent and still and so near dead that Sam dared not turn his head and gaze out as well.

They had stopped after years of driving, the crunch of gravel under the impala's wheels jumping Dean to life. He had bolted from the car, screaming at Sam near-incoherently.

_Don't need you, can take care of myself.  
Gee, Sammy, like taking the driver's seat on this one? Literally, no less?  
You think you can judge me for this? Mr. I Left The Family To Be A Selfish Prick?  
Mind your own fucking business for once.  
I can do whatever I damn well want, I'm a grown man._

The sun dropped in the sky, streaking it with pinks and oranges, water color and finger painting, childish and ancient. Headlights caught the road, and Bobby's truck jutted around the bend. Sam was surprised to find a smile ready, light and cheery and pathetically out of place.

"Sam." He didn't say anything else, just pulled him into a close hug. He smelled like ash and leather and gun oil, and on instinct Sam hugged back. "He in there?"

"Um, yeah." Sam pulled away, suddenly feeling awkward, and pushed the bag held in his hand out towards Bobby. Bobby stared at it for a moment then took it. "Can you get rid of it? I wasn't sure how." Bobby nodded, lips pressing into thin lines between his teeth. "Uh, Bobby, can you...not be here for a while. I'm sorry, but I don't think Dean really needs two people watching him. If I wasn't his brother he would've bolted already."

Bobby's nodding before Sam can finish. "Yeah, Sam of course."

Without thinking, Sam pulls him into another hug, starting as the sound of breaking glass pushes its way from the house.

"I gotta go..."

"Yeah."

Sam watched as Bobby got into his old truck, pushing the bag away from him, next to the passenger's door. Sam could hardly blame him, there weren't enough miles to put between him and it. His brother and it...

Dean is kneeling on the kitchen floor,a pool of beer on the linoleum, shining on broken shards of the bottle. He jumps at Sam's hand on his shoulder.

"Here, let me."

"I dropped the damn bottle, Sam, chill." Sam nods and backs off. He won't baby Dean. That decision makes up the entirety of his plan.

Dean's knees are soaked in the thin liquid, disarray of papertowels haphazardly drawn against the white of the floor. The air smells of Dean's old sick fits, like beer and sweat, and Dean's wearing short sleeves for the first time in...four?...months, red lines slashing down, pinpoints of some self-inflected disease on his brother's arms. Sam doesn't want to look at him anymore, but he's shaking so now he just _can't_ leave.

"Dean?" Dean waves an arm at him, tell him to go away, falling forward a little and leaning down on his palms, the wieght of his body locking in shaky muscles. "Alright Dean, come on." He's wet, and the smell of him makes Sam's eyes water a little, but he pulls Dean up slowly, one arm under both of his brother's, fighting off feeble little protests. Sam is coaxing them both into the little guest room, down onto their bed.

"Sam, I'm fine. I'm fine. Sam..."Hes almost stuttering as Sam pulls off his shirt. It's soaked with Dean's sweat and dabbles of Bud, cold clamy skin beneath it. Dean's jeans hit the floor with a tiny _shlick_, and Sam thinks distantly that the smell of beer will never come out.

"Alright, Dean. Alright. Come on." He's pulling Dean under the covers, cocooning him.

"Sammy? Just...stay." He's on his side, but Sam thinks he might be close to tears. "It hurts. Stay." This isn't Dean, broken and pleading, isn't Dean, but Sam tucks himself behind this body anyway.

"Never would have left."


End file.
